


Do you mind?

by manthepan



Category: Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Oliver pov, POV First Person, i had to rewatch the phone call scene for this you owe it to me to read this, the phone call from the movie but I fixed it, this is lowkey dumb but take it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26585737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manthepan/pseuds/manthepan
Summary: When Oliver asked Elio if he would mind him getting married, what if Elio had said yes?
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 9
Kudos: 79





	Do you mind?

“Do you mind?”

Do you mind that I’m getting married? Does _Elio. Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio_ repeated into the phone on Hanukkah mind that I was getting married? Does _I miss you_ mind? 

“Very much.” Is what I said to him missing me. I missed him too. Very much. 

Did he mind? How awful of me, how sinister and heartless. He was a boy who minded so many things. His thoughts never stopped, I could tell. I could watch his eyes glance around the table at dinner every night and feel him minding every damn thing. 

Do you mind? As if I’d asked if he could do me a favor, as if this were something I needed to ask permission for. 

No. 

Forgiveness. 

Do you mind?

It was quiet on the other end for an eternity of moments, all I did was listen to him breathe. I missed him. I missed his breath and his eyes. I missed everything about him. Even then, knowing I’d speared that poor boy’s heart the same way Anchise would a fish for lunch, knowing he would glare up, up, up at me with barely-concealed seething, I wanted it. I wanted him in front of me, I wanted him to mind. 

Oh, Elio. Oliver. Oliver, Oliver, Oliver. 

You were so much braver than me. I am terribly afraid of what I’ve done, what I’ve severed in that singular question. Terrified that I’ve broken my own heart so many times, in so many ways days before I ever left B, that now I can’t feel anything other than hurt. Terrified that you don’t mind. 

Terrified that with all the spectacular things I saw and had while in Europe, the only one that I could pull from memory would always be you. 

Say you mind. Say I’m a bastard for calling on today of all days and ask if you minded. I need you, Elio, to mind. I’ll stop everything, I’ll come back. I need a reason to. All you have to do is say you mind. The line is cast, my wriggling fish is dying on the hook. I will flounder at your feet, gasping for air, for death, if that’s what it will take. 

Mind, Elio. For me. Because I couldn’t say no. She asked me. She mentioned marrying me and I didn’t say no. In the real world, the melancholy that exists outside of all our spots that we made in Italy, I hadn’t a reason to refuse her. So I didn’t. 

Elio. I miss you very much. Do you mind?

His parents came on the line and my mind snapped back out of the coma in which I had buried myself. Elio’s family, the people whose hospitality felt less _welcome to your vacation_ and more _welcome back_. They were such good people.And I was hurting their son. Again. Over and over.

Would they mind?

“Oh, darling, when are you coming back?” His mother.

“I wish I was,” I said. Christ, I wish every day I was. Like an idiot I threw away my ticket stubs at the airport before being picked up. I’d give anything to have them back, to see my destination be Elio.

I stopped hearing Elio’s breath on the phone but his line didn’t disconnect. He was sitting there, minding. 

I told his parents I was engaged and they immediately gave me back to Elio. They knew. Of course they did. They knew what we had said, done, been.

And what I had just announced to Elio. 

In that instance I truly felt the most cowardly. They could have let me talk about my fiancé, how we were going to get married in a vineyard, how she wanted children and I didn’t have an opinion on them. But they forced me back with Elio. 

When they hung up, I felt my heart in my stomach.

Elio confirmed what I suspected. I told him I figured.

“How?” His voice cracked and so did every square inch of my foundation. I realized I can’t do this. I can’t make him hurt like this. Not when I can’t hold him, smother him, drown out his thoughts with the sounds of our lovemaking. 

“From the way your dad spoke to me. He made me feel like I was a part of the family.” 

Don’t say anything else. Ask to come back. 

Then I heard myself say son-in-law and I knew I had ruined it. Everything. That analogy was one step too far and I could hear Elio’s mind click into the gear of never wanting to see me ever again. Like how he was after midnight. The only difference is that I was no longer there to get his thoughts away from complete self destruction. 

In the same way, neither was Elio there for me who was surrounding our hearts with dynamite and seemingly itching to press the detonator. 

He interrupted me before I started talking.

“Elio.”

I felt my pulse kick in my entire body. The inhale he took before dragged me across the Atlantic. I was there. I felt his lips on my skin, I heard his cries when he came, I tasted the coastal air and held his hands so tightly in mine. I wanted it to hurt. 

If I broke his fingers, he wouldn’t be able to play his piano for me. But I wanted to break him in half at that second. At that utterance of his name.

He minds. But he won’t say it. Instead, he will continue to love me and tell me as much.

I should have known. Even while I watched him for weeks do nothing but act out and be everything a teenager should be, I knew he was too good. If there was even the slightest chance I could be happy in the states without him, he would allow me that. I knew it. 

Fuck. 

He whispered it too many times to count. Right into my ear.

With my betrothed in the other room, I got hard. My hand went immediately to my trousers and I palmed myself down though it did nothing but remind me of Elio’s rough, eager inexperience. 

I took the phone away from my mouth, let my head fall back and swore under my breath as I tried to refocus. 

I didn’t desire anyone like I did him. I didn’t think about anyone’s body like I did his. I never revered anything that wasn’t priceless, ancient art. 

Then again, Elio had been Michelangelo’s David. I couldn’t not worship him. 

I turned around to make sure she wasn’t in earshot. Out of the kitchen. 

I didn’t mean to moan, I didn’t mean to love him, I didn’t mean _Do you mind?_

“Oliver…”

For a breath, there was quiet. 

“I remember everything,” I admitted. Guilty and raw. I would need to get off before lunch. 

“Everything.”

He repeated me, my perfect Elio. 

“Where is the shirt?”

“My room,” his voice had gotten soft again. Then, defiant. “I’m not getting rid of it. It’s mine.”

“I know.”

“Elio.”

The phone cord won’t reach the bathroom but my cock didn’t seem to care how out in the open I am. I groaned. 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You can’t make me.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. I needed him again. I needed Italy under my feet and in my lungs. I needed the smell of freshly dried bed sheets, I needed soft boiled eggs and Elio’s body all around me.

“What difference would it make?”

“So you do,” I accused. 

“What difference would it make, Oliver?”

“I don’t know.”

“Of course.” I heard him sniffle. “I’m hanging up.”

“No—Elio—“

“I don’t mind. Weddings are a lovely thing.”

He couldn’t be lying harder if he tried. 

“Lovely for who?”

“People in love.”

“Like us?”

“I hate you.”

“Oliver.” I was grasping at straws. Don’t hang up. Please. 

“You knew this would happen. There’s no way you couldn't.”

“I can come back.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can and I will.”

Elio breathed in deep with his nose. “Alone.”

He was daring me. Calling my bluff. That’s fine. I’ve had a duffel bag packed in my closet since my second week home.

“Do you mind?” 

“Stay…” he was ordering me now and I couldn’t refuse him.

“Give me time. I have to take care of things here.” How had this Italian brat turned me so spineless?

“Things. There will always be things. What in the world is there that can’t be taken care of in a few days?”

“My replacement, for starters. Did you forget I have a career?”

“Yes.”

I laughed.

“I forgot everything after you left. I haven’t played my guitar in weeks.”

“I haven’t listened to music in a month.”

“That’s depressing.”

“Life these days tends to be.”

More silence. 

“Do you mind?”

“Come back.”

“Would you mind?”

“No.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a little drabble that assaulted me at 5AM. Needed it out of me. I love writing/reading Oliver POV stuff. He's baby and no one can tell me otherwise.


End file.
